


Hurt

by ahappykappa



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Flash Fiction, Grief/Mourning, Infinity War spoilers, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 09:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14493483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahappykappa/pseuds/ahappykappa
Summary: *Avengers: Infinity War: Part 1 Spoilers*Some flash fiction I wrote in a vain attempt to cope with the ending of Infinity War; includes character deaths.





	1. Brown

**Author's Note:**

> *Final warning: Infinity War Spoilers ahead*
> 
> I haven’t written fanfiction in a while, but seeing Infinity War Part 1 necessitated writing myself out of some feelings

Peter’s eyes were brown. Dark brown, almost-black doe eyes that gleamed wet with tears when he pressed his face to Tony’s shoulder, shook his head against him, too scared to cry. 

Tony has held prone bodies in his arms more times than he would like, cradled the delicate lines of Pepper’s frame, grasped the bulk of Rhodey’s suit and torn his mask from his face in search of life, and now, God help him- no god can help him, he thinks- Peter is gone where he stood just moments ago pressed into him, arms around him, shuddering.

Peter’s eyes were brown. His hair, brown, tousled from battle, dry with dust. His face round, eyes round, soft and innocent and too fucking young to be gone, dust on this windless drought-ridden planet.

He wants to tell him he listened to every word. Aliens, fucking Footloose. He was on a field trip. Some fucking field trip this turned out to be.  
He presses the tips of his fingers to his lips and feels them trembling, feels the stream of blood dry down his chin from the corner of his mouth, feels weak and tired and thirsty. He aches. He touches the Arc Reactor. His breathing is starting to pick up. Strange is gone, Quill gone, the rest, Peter, damn it, Peter, gone.

He closes his eyes, tries to breathe, tries to focus, tries to see, cannot see, vision a stinging blur of beige. Peter’s eyes were brown.


	2. Star

Thor nearly forgets what his brother’s presence feels like as soon as he’s gone, as if Loki’s whole being had been an illusion, and he flexes his hands in search of something to hold onto, some piece of him, and there’s nothing. 

Has Loki ever truly been real? Had some greater god placed him in Thor’s life as a cruel magic trick? 

Unbidden images spring to life behind his eyes- Frigga’s golden head bowed over Loki’s own, kissing his forehead, wiping tears from his eyes after a skirmish left them both scraped up. Reaching then for Thor, pressing them all close together. His mother’s heartbeat soft beneath his cheek, Loki’s shy hand clasping his own in search of equilibrium, not forgiveness, the way it always was; no apologies, only stasis. Odin’s hand on Thor’s head, smoothing the way for a golden helm to mark his kingship. 

All this time, no mention of Hela-- perhaps, he thinks bitterly, not a breath of truth from their father’s lips-- all lies that unraveled and led to this, to his brother’s corpse, to an alien ship, to new eyes open on his last hope.

“I’m going to hold it open,” he says to Eitri.  
He hears something, distant, a warning, perhaps. He isn’t good with heeding warnings.

“Only if I die,” he calls back. He stares at the maw of the forge, at the closed eye of the heart, the soft soulful glow of the dying star. He can only hope to become something like this, smolder his anger and fury into the galaxy for all of eternity, become a spot of burning flame at the apex of the universe.

Heat blazes at his back, crawls the length of his spine and flashes in the corners of his eyes as his palms sweat where he holds open the forge’s mouth; he must keep his eyes forward, must think of better times. He begins to count the stars, work them into shapes, search for his brother’s form in the matter of the cosmos. When he thinks he just might see him, blistering with heat and power, he falls, and the maw thunders shut behind him.


	3. Real

Steve can’t lose Bucky again.

It doesn’t feel real, it’s not real; his fingers feather over fallen leaves, searching for dust, for decay, for dog tags, for something. It’s a magic trick, sleight of hand, smoke and mirrors, pixie powder. If this new world has taught him anything, it’s that nothing is real, not like it used to be. But Bucky, he’s the realest thing Steve’s ever had. And Steve is staring at nothing.

He’d just gotten him back, just pressed him to his chest again, just seen him smile. That smile broke over his face like the sunrise, made Steve’s cheeks glow, made him think of simpler times in simpler clothes, looking up at the tall figure of his friend checking himself in the mirror before a date, years before he ever looked down a scope. 

Bucky was firm in his arms, scruff brushing rough on his cheek just hours before. Now, Steve sits on the ground with bloody hands looking for reason, looking for him.

He shakes his head. Meets Nat’s eyes. She bites her lip, draws close, pulls her arm around his shoulder. He closes his eyes against her, shakes his head again. Stirs his fingers along the ground, searching. Closes up a sob or howl of pain in the back of his throat before it can escape and wills himself to stand again. The blackened star on his chest heaves with the effort, sore to the heart.


End file.
